The Old Gods and the New
by SansaandWinterfell
Summary: If they knew the truth about the last hero, the true one, perhaps Sansa would still be safely tucked away in Winterfell until the end of her days. Instead she was to be married off, not to take her from her family, but to take another from the Red Keep. In which Sansa claims herself.


Written for the Game of Ships Wedding prompt. Knowing nothing, owning nothing.

The Old Gods and the New

Sansa smiled convincingly when the queen offered her handmaidens to help her prepare. The offer was kind enough, but the implication was clear enough, ithe Starks could not spare to send anyone to help./i It was true, Rickon was left at Winterfell with Ser Brynden while she was brought to Kings Landing once more. It was as though she was reliving a nightmare.

The keep was as she remembered it, even though the Queen had seen that she was given different chambers, or perhaps it was her betrothed. As a girl she had dreamed of this place, frowning at the summer snows of Winterfell, but now she missed the crisp breeze that followed snowfall, the air was too hot here.

The girls, for they were so young, had styled her hair in braids per the Queens instructions. Sansa knew she should be honored, for braids to the Dragon Queen meant something so different. Perhaps it was being back in this place that made her feel like she was still a bird in a cage, having to please someone else instead. The Queen was implying that she had won battles, but being in this room, at this castle made her feel like she was still just a pawn.

The Queen had won the battle in the North, the smallfolk say, like the last hero. She had ridden on her fierce dragons and brought the known world back from the long winter. If they knew the truth about the last hero, the true one, perhaps Sansa would still be safely tucked away in Winterfell until the end of her days. Instead she was to be married off, not to take her from her family, but to take another from the Red Keep.

"Lady Sansa, it's time." Ser Barristain escorted her to the Sept of Baelor and she felt like she was in a dream. Her dove grey dress was something she would have fallen in love with as a girl, but it was much too fine to be practical. She wore her maiden cloak, the one her father had given her mother. Although she was not a maid her marriage to the Queen's hand had been set aside, given his testimony that their marriage was unconsummated. A silver king waited for her instead of a golden one, for this was a marriage of the realms.

iFor Rickon,/i she told herself, schooling her face into a pleasant smile as she walked alongside the king. She had walked down these stairs before but the memory wasn't what made her breath catch, and her feet to stop carrying her forward. iAt least he looks like home,/i she told herself. The King pressed on and she followed. "He's not as dour as he seems," the king told her with ease, as though they were old friends; as if she had never meet Jon.

The free folk on the Gift had told her about the defeat of the white walkers, that while the queen had brought dragons it was Jon who lead the charge. Jon who wielded a glowing sword, the prince that was promised. That wouldn't have done well for Queen Daenerys, or King Aegon as it were who considered themselves to be the promised one. Three dragons returned to Kings Landing, just like the sigil. The smallfolk rallied behind their Queen because of the victory, if they found out the true victor was Jon it was possible they would shift their loyalties; there had been more kings and queens on the iron throne leading to winter, they were used to the shift.

The Queen had written to her, a regent to her younger brother, with a proposal. The north could remain as it were, in the hands of a Stark, so long as Sansa married Jon. The marriage would secure Targaryen loyalty in the North, something that the Queen needed, it would also take Jon from Kings Landing before anyone could find out the truth of the victory in the North. Sansa was skilled enough at reading between the lines to know that the wedding would happen one way or another, she would be better off giving the queen the answer she wanted.

Now as she walked down the steps she passed her first husband, the hand to the Queen, at least they had asked her in the first place. Jon had yet to look at her, and it made her stomach turn. She wondered if he would miss Kings Landing, and the family who he had gone to battle with. Instead he would be returning to Winterfell, with a wife who had hardly regarded him in the past, and a boy he had once considered his brother who had long forgotten everyone.

Jon's arm was solid in hers as he led her up the steps to the altar. As a girl she had always imagined her wedding in a sept to a man who loved her, as her father loved her mother. Now it seemed like a twist of fate, Jon who looked so like a northman and she who looked so like her mother, marrying before the eyes of the Seven. The prayers and songs were easy enough to remember, she had grown up in the sept at Winterfell. Jon was less at ease in the sept, but she didn't mind that. Women typically kept to their husbands gods, and it was painfully obvious that Jon did not keep to the seven, so why would they be married in a sept?

He unclasped her cloak, being sure to keep their contact limited. He draped the Targaryen cloak around her shoulders in the same fashion. When she faced him to say the vows she allowed herself to truly look upon him. At first all she saw was her father, and uncle in his face; the longer she looked the more she noticed the differences. His nose sloped like the Queen's, she could even see the shape of Rhaegar Targaryen's eyes if she looked hard enough. Daenery's had commissioned portraits of the Kings before her, Sansa had become more familiar with the Targaryen look than she had ever expected.

"With this kiss I pledge me love and take you for my lord and husband." She said softly, wishing he would even pretend to be happy. Though she could barely place his voice before he left Winterfell, his answering vows were spoken in a man's voice, gruff but gentle. His hand was callused when it cupped her cheek, and before he kissed her he finally looked at her with an unspoken apology. Whether it was for the state of his hands, or the circumstances of the wedding as a whole she doubted she would ever know.

There were musicians at the feast, perhaps Tyrion had suggested that there not be singers. There was more dancing at this wedding than the last she had attended, the King had led her in three songs before allowing her to return to her seat. She tried to enjoy herself, for though this was not her first wedding she was certain it would be her last. It may not be the wedding she had once dreamed of, but she would be returning home, she would be safe, and above all things Jon wouldn't hurt her. He may not be her brother, but he was raised by the best man she had known.

Everyone was well into their cups, well nearly everyone, when Jon had taken her hand into his. Startled she turned to face him, "is the feast to your liking my lady?" The formalities sounded so strange coming from him, though as she recalled he was always eager to please, and the Sansa of old loved pleasantries.

"Yes my lord," she replied, she would follow his lead. They were near strangers with a common past, it was likely that he hardly remembered her.

"And the ceremony?" She found his unease surprisingly endearing. "I remember you kept to the New Gods, it only seemed right that if you were forced to marry a King's bastard you be married under your Gods." She would have laughed if his tone wasn't so serious. Kings Landing was where she turned to the Old Gods, but she wouldn't have him thinking she blamed him for this.

All she could do was twist her palm and lace her fingers through his. She had been hesitant of this marriage until this very moment. It was not that she had fallen in love with him, she was not in a song after all. There was nothing he could have gained from considering her preferences, and that was something she had not experienced with the men in her life since her father. "Come with me," she requested rising from her seat. He looked around, obviously considering the guests. "They won't miss us, the King had their attention." She wasn't lying, although she and Jon sat in the center of the table it was the king who had captured the attention of the lords and ladies in attendance.

Sansa pulled him through the keep, and he followed in silence. If they were to make the best of this marriage she would have to show him she cared as well. The Godswood was not as great as the one in Winterfell, she was sure he would agree. As they approached the old oak heart tree he turned to her in confusion, "what are we doing here?"

She was unclasping the cloak around her shoulders to return to him. "We should do this properly, don't you agree?" She had not been to a wedding like this since she was a girl, the ones she played at as a girl with Robb were always a wedding under the New Gods. The understanding on Jon's face was enough to urge her forward in her proposal. "Although I must confess I do not remember everything."

He swallowed, and nodded; when he answered his voice sounded hoarse. "The groom waits at the base of the tree," he explained without moving from her side, "the bride waits at the edge and they announce themselves to the gods, and the vows begin." He paused, hesitation upon his face, she felt a strange sense of relief at that, he would never be able to lie to her without her recognizing it.

"What's wrong?" She asked running her thumb along his hand, still entwined in hers.

"Usually there is someone who gives the bride away," and the apologetic look he wore before he kissed her earlier had overtaken the easiness she had seen moments ago.

"Go and wait for me, we shouldn't skip anything," she insisted. He would be assured by the end of this, she was sure of it.

"Who comes? Who comes before the gods?" His soft voice carried through the Godswood. He nodded at her, letting her know it was her turn to speak.

"Sansa of House Stark, comes to be wed." She paused trying to remember the words she heard. "A woman grown and flowered," and the words her mother told her she had once said, "true-born and noble. She comes to beg the blessings of the gods." She was pleased to remember that. "Who comes to claim me?"

"Jon of House Targaryen, I claim you." It was her turn to encourage him with a nod to continue, though it did not escape her notice that he did not include his titles, that he hesitantly called himself a Targaryen, as though the words didn't often come from his mouth. "Who gives her away?" His voice didn't carry as she approached him.

"She gives herself, and she would take this man for her husband." He linked their hands together and they kneeled before the tree. She had once prayed for home here, and for the safety of her family. She thought the Old Gods had shunned her the way the same the New Gods had, but Rickon was safe, and Jon truly her family now was safe as well. It had just taken them time to bring them together. Now as she knelt before this tree, she could pray for the blessing of her family passed, and that her marriage borne from duty may bloom into one with the same respect her parents had held. Jon waited for her cue to rise once more, he clasped the cloak around her once more. 

The kiss they shared was not apologetic, but still unfamiliar. "Thank you," he rested his forehead against hers. She wasn't sure if he was thanking her for this makeshift ceremony, or for letting him know she wanted to be happy with him; either way she held tight to him.

"Come, now that we've had a proper wedding we should return." She led him back the familiar path. "We can leave for home tomorrow." It was as close as she could come to verbal affection, but the grip of her hand in his let Sansa know he understood.


End file.
